


Value of Our Lives

by rachanlv



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Erik dealing with emotions and failing miserably, M/M, Unhappy Ending, but Charles is no better, everyone here fail to deal with emotions, except Shaw, he's a bastard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachanlv/pseuds/rachanlv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Jane Eyre AU. Mr. Erik Lehnsherr was a man that never, not even once in his life, gave up on a single challenge that was thrown his way. It was a matter of pride, something that would bring satisfaction to his ego. And the challenge he had to face is something bigger than he could have ever imagined - a devilishly handsome young man, Mr. Daniel Moore and his secrets.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ! In this fic, things written in italics are flashbacks. Please remember that, so it won't confuse you in the future.

  
“Mr. Lehnsherr? Mr. Lehnsherr! Were you even listening?” her inquiry, full of irritation and frustration brought him back to reality, “Is there something on his face?”

Giving her a quick glance, Mr. Lehnsherr was not even sure what the lady asked, or what nonsense she was talking about earlier.

“The man clad in black, near the window. Is there something on his face?” Each and every word she uttered, revealed the impatience that was slowly, yet so surely building up. She was not accustomed to being ignored.

“Pardon?”

“You have been ogling him the whole evening. The very least you could do is to act as if you are listening to me.”

“Lady Ingram,” he began, voice calm and smooth, “I can assure you, I did not miss a single word that escaped your beautiful lips, please continue, I’m all yours.’

~...~

For the rest of the evening, he was listening to Lady Ingram’s chirping; doing an outstanding job of not giving in to complete boredom and not allowing his façade to crack and crumble. As gorgeous as she may seem, Lady Blanche Ingram was like a rotten apple- seemingly delicious by appearance, but the moment you sink your teeth in, it is all rot, black and utterly unappetizing. She was selfish, narcissistic beyond belief, and so narrow-minded that it was plain ridiculous. Although, he may be the only one in this room to think so.

As the clock leisurely dragged its hand over to ten minutes past nine, Mr. Lehnsherr could have sworn with his own life, that this chirping bird would never stop. The things she talked about made no sense, but the surrounding crowd just swallowed everything she had fed them.  
One glass of wine followed another and Mr. Lehnsherr found himself doing the same thing he was up to most of the evening – the man clad in black did not leave his sight even for a short moment.

The man was young, probably a decade younger than Mr. Lehnsherr himself, yet somehow mature; charming to the extent that even a man would find him attractive, with a slender figure, that was more suitable for a woman, yet manly enough to convince others of his masculinity. He indeed, was a much more interesting subject to concentrate your attention on.

For a split second, their eyes met and there was something about the black-clad man that Mr. Lehnsherr found baffling; it was if something in those azure eyes and that smile were daring him not to break the contact.

~...~

_“And what do you expect of me?” Mr. Lehnsherr was gloomy, like a massive boulder that came to life. He did not bother to shake the hand of a man standing in front of him._

_“Mr. Lehnsherr, please-” Mrs. Fairfax began, but was interrupted by a young man in black._

_“Mrs. Fairfax, please do not fret,” the man smiled ever so kindly at her and turned the doorknob, pausing for a moment in the door frame, “You were of much help, thank you. Mr. Lehnsherr…” He gave the owner of Thornfield Hall a slight bow, and closed a massive door behind him; regardless that he was soaking to the bone from the horrid rain outside._

_Mrs. Fairfax just turned on her heel to look at her lord, her grey from age eyebrows knitted together in a frown and her gaze heavy with accusation and bitterness. She did not drop a single word, for she believed that Mr. Lehnsherr was well aware of the thoughts running though her head._

_The agonizing minutes spent in complete silence were like hours and it did not take Mrs. Fairfax long to make Mr. Lehnsherr change his mind._

_“Bring that man back in here.”_

 

~...~

  
“Mr. Moore, if my memory serves me right?” Mr. Lehnsherr was now standing near the young man, glass of wine in hand and not so sober eyes looking at him, boring into that pretty skull. “If you would excuse us, gentlemen,” he stated, gesturing to the other men, his guests from far and near, to leave them for a while. Lazily, but obediently nevertheless, they left.

“Sir,” the young man gave Mr. Lehnsherr a slight nod, lips curling into a smile, his features perfectly calm. “Is there something the matter? You seem to be bothered about something.”

“What may have led you to this conclusion?” Whenever he was in a close proximity to this man, there was this quickly vanishing feeling of something tickling his brain, like a gentle feathery touch, it was an unexpected and somehow pleasant sensation; something he had never experienced before. Interesting, even odd to a certain extent, this man - Daniel Moore - simple as he may seem, was something peculiar.

“Simple logic, Mr. Lehnsherr, seeing that you have left the charming Lady Blanche,” he pointed his glass of wine slightly in Lady Ingram’s direction, to make a point. “There should be a vital state of affairs demanding your presence, is it not so, sir?”

The tickling sensation was back and Mr. Lehnsherr was now absolutely sure, that Mr. Moore was the one responsible for this. “If you do not mind, my friend,” he took the glass away from the young gentleman, relishing that bewildered look as those slender fingers let go, “I would like to talk with you for a moment. A walk in a garden if you don’t mind?”

The moment he finished that sentence and was about to leave this ball, a familiar chirping sound reached his ears, “Mr. Lehnsherr, come sing with me, darling!”

~...~

_“Jane,” he finally broke the silence in the study after many hours of complete stillness, “I consider you a friend.”  
The young woman, as if dragged back to reality from her thoughts, raised her eyes to meet Mr. Lehnsherr’s, only to find that his gaze was locked on the fiery tongues dancing wildly in the hearth. The fire, being the only source of light in the room, did a remarkable job of concealing Mr. Lehnsherr’s features. Jane could not tell, by the best of her, what thoughts and worries were gracing her lord’s face._

_Not expecting her to answer, he went on, “And as a friend, I would like to hear your honest opinion regarding one peculiar subject…” he trailed off, leaving Jane in anxiety of what to come. She was not the one to elicit the answers; for she respected Mr. Lehnsherr not only as her employer, but also as a person._

_The silence hung in the air again, by what it seemed, Mr. Lehnsherr had forgotten what he was about to say and Jane had no other alternative but to inquire further, for her curiosity was getting the best of her. She was only human, after all._

_“The subject of the matter that had been bothering me for quite some time is Mr. Moore,” he said. Without giving her an opportunity to utter a single word, he continued, “What can you tell me about him, as a friend to a friend?”_

_“With all due respect, sir, but may I ask what made you believe that I happen to know Mr. Moore better than you, or for that matter, better than anyone in Thornfield Hall?” She shifted in her seat, now fully facing the collocutor._

_“My dear Jane,” he said, his voice a quiet and seemingly calm tune, but it was more like an interrogation, “I know that you know something about him that none of us do. After all, ever since he got here, you have been spending quite a lot of time together.” An undertone of irritation was seeping through, making Jane feel utterly uncomfortable._

_“Your walks in the garden, your constant gibberish about books and other nonsense,” he was about to go on, but as the clock struck midnight, he stopped, his mouth ceasing its movement._

_Jane grasped the opportunity to escape any further questioning and took her leave, giving Mr. Lehnsherr a bow before disappearing from the study._

~...~

  
“Ah! There you are, Ms. Eyre!”

Jane turned around; the voice calling out to her was familiar to her ears. The intense sunlight was obstructing her sight; she could barely make out the silhouette that was approaching her. It did not take long enough though, as the silhouette morphed into a figure of a man, her new acquaintance, Mr. Moore. He was dazzling; Jane did not fail to notice, although she was not the kind of girl to have illusions about handsome men falling in love with her. She knew where they stood and where did she.

Mr. Moore’s waistcoat of chocolate brown caught her attention, with a snow-white shirt; they were accentuating his slender figure to the extent of a bewitching sight, and a neatly tied scarf was an elegant and lovely touch.

“Mr. Moore, sir, did something happen?” Jane said, the concern in her voice giving her away.

Her companion only blinked a couple of times and when the realization of him calling on her out of the blue may actually seem as if something happened kicked in, he just shook his head and smiled, “Miss Eyre, please, be at ease. Nothing happened; I just came to talk to you.”

“With me, sir?” she looked at Mr. Moore’s face, searching for any signs of deceit, but found none.  
“Yes, if you would.” He gestured to the shade under the chestnut tree. “Ladies first.”

The shadow of that gorgeous tree was like heaven, saving the poor souls that hid under it and keeping the humid heat of the summer at bay. It was only June, but the heat was excruciating, and whether out in the garden or in the manor, it was about the same.

“With days like this, you sure miss the cold winter evenings,” Mr. Moore stated, quickly wiping his brow with a handkerchief that somehow struck Jane as odd. She could not put her finger on it, but there was something off about that small piece of white cloth.

“Mr. Moore, I do not wish to sound disrespectful, but I believe that there was something you wanted to talk with me about,” she said, her eyes fixated not on his face, but on the handkerchief in his hand.

A bit surprised by her bluntness, the man let out a sound, similar to a chuckle. “You are extraordinary, Miss Eyre. Such frankness.” He moved a bit closer to Jane, earning her stern gaze in reply, as she shifted her position further away from the intruder of her personal space. He retreated to his former position as well, trying to conceal a smile, but failing miserably at doing so.

“I do not see anything amusing about the way you act, sir.” Jane was irritated, but she did not let it show. Keeping her face, which was what was required of young ladies of her age in situations like this.

“Miss Eyre, please, I mean no disrespect,” he admitted, “I know how it may have looked that way from your point of view, but I can assure you, that is not the case. It is just that I need to keep it as a secret- the thing I wish to ask you about.”

At those words, Jane tensed up even more; she was not in support of any secrets or heaven forbid, rumors being shared. She quietly waited for Mr. Moore to continue and so he did, “Miss Eyre, did you happen to notice… something odd going on in Thornfield Hall? Something bizarre, even?”

“What are you trying to say, sir?” By the time he had finished the previous sentence, Jane was more than aware of what exactly Mr. Moore was inquiring about. “Thornfield Hall is the safest and the quietest place to be, sir, I can assure you,” she lied and could not believe that she did.

“Strange noises, sounds of footsteps in the middle of the night… no?” Mr. Moore persisted.

“No, sir. Nothing of that sort.”

“So, you think I am imagining things?”

“Perhaps you are, sir.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Adel’s jubilant cry as she rushed to the gates, and the sound of a coach quickly approaching. Jane was about to excuse herself, for she knew she should greet Mr. Lehnsherr, when Mr. Moore offered her a hand; their eyes met for a short moment and they both knew that their tête-à-tête was over.


	2. Challenge

 

Jane could not sleep that night, for the questions Mr. Moore asked were in her way to dream land. Did he actually notice the eerie sounds at night and strange footsteps echoing throughout the manor? The mere thought of that actually being true put her in an awful position – the secret Mr. Lehnsherr asked her to keep could be exposed. She could still recall that dreadful night, as vivid as day, when she had to keep Mr. Mason awake and put pressure on his horrid wound with a cloth, so quickly dripping with his own blood. It was horrendous, and a day in her life she would gladly erase.

It was when Mr. Lehnsherr asked her to keep everything that had happened that night to herself – it would be their dark secret, something they both should carry to their graves.

Taking a deep breath, in a vain attempt to calm her mind, she stared at the ceiling. She had no idea how much time had she spent like this, but no more. If she could not ease her mind to sleep, the least she could do was to use these waking hours wisely. She grabbed her pencils and album, and went down to the study, in hopes of finding peace in drawing.

The study was a silent sanctuary at an hour like this and she could not feel more content than now. She lit a candle and placed it on the table, moving the books that lay there away, and placing her drawing album right in the middle. Jane cherished moments of solitude like this, regardless that she had to admit that she enjoyed Mr. Lehnsherr’s company probably more than she should have. He was like a storybook character, not a prince charming, mind you, but he had that magnetic charisma that would simply swipe everyone off their feet. He was tall, masculine, and passionate in his ideas and views about this world, with an extraordinary mind. He was attractive in his own way, not as temptingly handsome as Mr. Moore was, but that what made him so fascinating.

The decision of what to draw did not wait long, for the only thing that ran though her mind was Mr. Erik Lehnsherr.

Little by little, the picture began to shape into something, and as she was about to finish Mr. Lehnsherr’s eyes, the sudden loud noise from upstairs, as if something heavy fell made her jump out of her skin. Somewhere deep down, she knew that that was not a good sign.

~...~

Thornfield Hall was an enormous manor, and by night, it seemed more like a maze from horrid fairytales, than a house. He enjoyed places like this though, with massive doors and windows, with old, creaking at some point wooden floors, with candelabras gracing the halls with the soft light of the candles that they held, with paintings and books that were many decades older than anyone living here. Even the walls of this place had a history of their own, but not many ever tried to listen to what they had to say. Mr. Moore wished that he could just enjoy the magnificence that is this place, but he could not.

During his two week stay, he had noticed bizarre things going on around the manor, and as fate would have it, he had little option but to find out what in the world could that be. Strange noises, something similar to a growl could be heard deep at night along with the sound of something knocking and scratching from inside the walls. Although he was young, he did not believe in ghosts or werewolves, or any sort of fairytale monstrosity for that matter, but another night accompanied by that orchestra and he would have to reconsider.

Every evening he saw Mrs. Pool – a strange looking woman – walking off to the far door of the west wing with a tray of food. She was there for the whole night and came out only at dawn. What was she doing there? ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ was a wise saying, but did not apply to situations like these, when Mr. Moore had his mind already set on something.

It was late, and the moment the door behind Mrs. Pool closed, he left his room and followed her. He tried to listen to what was going on behind the door, maybe he would be lucky enough to eavesdrop on someone’s conversation. Nothing. After a painfully slow twenty minutes, there was not a single sound coming from behind the closed door. Maybe she was not there?

Taking in a deep breath, he had no other option. He was not fond of doing this, but when the situation called for him to do so, he had no other choice but to oblige and to go with it.  
Eyes closed and complete silence; he needed the proper concentration to go so deep, it was one thing to catch a quickly vanishing thought by its tail, something that was on top of the person’s mind, and a completely different thing when you have to dive into someone’s consciousness.

It did not take him long to feel the presence of Mrs. Pool behind the solid door, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not sense anyone or anything being there with her. Even her consciousness seemed to be blocked by something, something he did not comprehend. Maybe it was not a block, maybe the only thing obstructing him from going through her head was his own inexperience. It would not be far from the truth, though.

He was not prepared for the wooden door in front of his face to swing open and that tray with all of the plates falling straight on his head, and Mrs. Pool’s disturbingly loud yelp following shortly.

~...~

Mr. Lehnsherr’s thoughts raced back and forth, back and forth, and they all came swirling around Daniel. In his mind, he did not address him as Mr. Moore, for it was absurd to call someone ‘Mister’ when it is just you, alone with your thoughts. He appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost and remained to stay, for god knows how long. But of course, as the true gentleman Mr. Lehnsherr was, he could not kick the guest out. Not that he was a man who was concerned about his reputation much, but the gossip and rumors that would ensue, now that, was an agonizing thought. He could not tolerate any whispers behind his back; he was a man of a belief that if someone has something to say – good or bad – about him, then he or she should do it straight to his face. If they were ever bold and courageous enough, that is.

That was one of the many reasons, why he enjoyed Jane’s company. She was straightforward, honest, and a tad harsh in her judgment sometimes, but that what made her easy to understand. She did have her moments of strangeness now and then, but it was not something as baffling as Daniel was.

Everything about him, everything he did and said, every look and smile of his, was a mystery. Whenever he was near, the feeling of someone lurking in his mind, searching deeply and thoroughly through his memories and thoughts was always there. If he did not know any better, he might have assumed that Daniel was one of so-called changelings, with some sort of special power to dive into the minds of others. Not that he did not believe in the likeliness of such people existing and walking on this Earth, for he too, was no ordinary man and- his line of thought was interrupted the instant Daniel descended the stairs.

Out of nowhere. As if he read my mind and knew what I was thinking about, Mr. Lehnsherr thought.

“Mr. Lehnsherr,” the young man said, a few of those bistre locks seemed a bit out of place, he retied his scarf, looking the older man into the eye, “Did I disturb you from your musings?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Lehnsherr disregarded the feeling of someone creeping around in his head again, although knew well who was doing that, but how and why, what was he looking for in his mind?

“To be quite honest with you, sir,” in one step he nearly closed the gap between them both, and if someone were to see them talking like this, one would assume that they were having an affair, “I was hoping to run into you.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Lehnsherr could practically feel Daniel’s vibe of sensuality entangling him, as he was so close; he indeed was devilishly handsome. He should not be a part of this world, for many would fall before his seductive, alluring powers.

“Indeed it is so, sir,” a little step closer, “I recall that there was something bothering you during the ball, you said,” he tilted his head up, just a little bit, “that you wanted to speak with me, well here I am.” The familiarity of his tone would seem offensive, even insulting to some, but Mr. Lehnsherr found it entertaining; just how far beyond the line would this man go.

Mr. Lehnsherr was always up to take on a challenge and with a predatory grin he closed the gap, no distance separating them now as they were just standing there, chest to chest, one could feel the warm breath of the other on his skin, the glaring contest fueling the tension that was about to explode. A smile of pure satisfaction, as those blue eyes gave away notes of shock; surely, the younger man was not expecting this. It did not take him long to reconcile, though, as those eyes gleamed with the most daring look Mr. Lehnsherr had ever seen.

Oh the temptation, Mr. Lehnsherr thought. Mind still in complete denial, but the true nature of the man was getting stronger and stronger; all he had to do is just lean a bit forward and the reward – those red lips - would be his.


	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the 3rd chapter!~ Finally some heated stuff, yay! I really hope that you'll enjoy this. :D Also, there are some phrases in French, so if they are not correct, please tell me~ I'll edit it ASAP.

Mr. Erik Lehnsherr was a man that never, not even once in his life, gave up on a single challenge that was thrown his way. It was a matter of some pride, something that would bring satisfaction to his ego. And the challenge he had to face was standing so close, looking him straight in the eye, his chest raising and falling, lips in a delicious curl. This man, this young and shamelessly tempting man was a challenge Mr. Lehnsherr could not, and did not want to give up. The thought of or craving - more like it, to close the distance, to grab his neatly tied scarf and just give that little devil what was coming to him, was racing in his head. To have those luscious lips against his own, a desire for a kiss, powerful and fervent, with his fingers grabbing and pulling, was fueling his not so innocent thoughts even more.

 

Not sure if it was the wine, or the lack of the physical contact or maybe both, but the mere idea of not ending the feast with a passionate kiss, sent chills down his spine and an extremely pleasant feeling to his abdomen. Oh how vivid his imagination was, he wanted all that young man could give, his moans and screams and the desperate prayers escaping his lips. Would this bring satisfaction to his ego? The answer was painfully aching right below his belt.

 

 _Oh you poor little soul_ , Mr. Lehnsherr thought, looking at the man, his gaze lustful, _you have no idea what I’ll do to you._

 

‘Oh,’ an enchanting smirk graced the features of the younger man, ‘but I do.’

 

And before Mr. Lehnsherr could blink, he found himself trapped in Moore’s hands, as they snaked around his neck, his lust-dazed brain doing a poor job in catching up to the pace of events swirling around him; before he knew it, a quick and absolutely delicious sensation of Daniel’s tongue brushing hastily against his lower lip, just left him burning. It took him a couple of seconds to react, to reconcile and to try to lock the younger man in his arms, an attempt in vain, as Daniel swiftly avoided his endeavor, a gleam of complete satisfaction in his eyes. Who was in charge of things now?

 

The moment he took the first couple of steps up the stairs, in an effort to leave Mr. Lehnsherr alone with his sexual desires while completely ignoring his own in turn, he stumbled a little, as the tail of his coat was used to stop him dead on his tracks. Two pairs of boots were sharing the same step now, and Daniel had little choice but to grab the railing to balance himself, as Mr. Lehnsherr was looming over him, his intention to finish what was started written all over his face. Mr. Lehnsherr was a predator and Mr. Moore was his prey, or was it?

 

‘Are you playing with me, boy?’ a question asked, demanding an immediate answer. Both of his hands were grabbing the railing, trapping Daniel between, his back pressed against the wooden balustrade.

 

The blend of sexually deprived anger and a crystal clear want in Mr. Lehnsherr’s eyes was what he needed; his mind was vulnerable and it was a perfect chance for Daniel to acquire what he wanted, but he hesitated, for he enjoyed the current turn of events way too much.

 

‘Even if I am,’ a voice just above a whisper, ‘what would you do about it, sir?’

 

The answer did not make him wait long, as he was kissed - with no hesitation - Mr. Lehnsherr locking him in a firm hold and by the way Mr. Moore kissed back, he did not seem to mind giving over the control of the situation.

And God forgive, but the decadence of this all did not make neither of them stop. Never in his life did he feel so good, so hot, so drunk with lust and dazed; the sensation of Mr. Lehnsherr’s body pressed so close to his own, the heat rising astonishingly fast, threatening to burn them to the bone.

 

As the situation was about to have a turn for a more thrilling direction, the clang of the breaking glass coming from the kitchen, nearly made them jump out of their skin.

 

In few moments, Mrs. Fairfax rushed from the living room straight to the kitchen, passing the two gentlemen, failing to notice that the two men were standing peculiarly close to each other, breathing heavily. The ruckus in the kitchen attracted the attention of some perhaps if not all, of the staff, then surely the half of them as they were, one by one inquiring what had happened from each other.

 

 

~...~

 

‘Monsieur, êtes-vous d'accord?’ Adele asked, voice soft and angelic, her little hands tugging the sleeve of her father’s jacket, ‘Vous regard triste-‘ She did not finish the sentence, as Mr. Lehnsherr cut her off with a single look, as sharp as a thousand daggers.

 

‘Jane, would you please take this impish sprite away, anywhere for that matter. Preferably as far away from me as possible,’ he said. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he let out a sigh; he was not in the mood to deal with this little disaster in an angel’s guise.

 

‘As you wish, sir,’ she did not elicit any answers or reasons, nor did she ask a single question, she just obliged and although Mr. Lehnsherr did not drop a single word, he thanked her for it.

The two quickly left the room, Adele throwing a last quick glance over her shoulder, before the massive oak door closed behind her.

 

He did not wish to be disturbed, and for reasons not known even to him, he actually did wish for that door to swing open and the figure of a slender, handsome man to be there, with that daring look in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his face. He wished for him to leisurely cross the distance, to take his time and stop just so it would be an easy feat to grab his hand and pull him down into a slow, deep kiss and- 

 

He opened his eyes and let yet another sigh escape his lips, marvelling at his own stupidity, he knew deep down in his gut, that Daniel Moore had other intentions and reasons to act like this, he was here to charm and seduce, for all Mr. Lehnsherr knew, that might be his way to gain information. Even so, what was the information he was here to acquire?

 

Mr. Lehnsherr closed his eyes, exhausted; he had next to no sleep at all and that sunny, nearly blinding summer morning light did not help the situation. The old leather chair made a squeaking noise, as if displeased with Mr. Lehnsherr standing up and leaving it behind, his steps echoing through the empty reading room.

 

~...~

 

The dusk was falling, gently surrounding the Thornfield Hall, the beautiful garden and nearly everything in the vicinity with a calming half-light, the wind soothing away the humid heat of the day. The meeting Mr. Lehnsherr had to attend was frustrating, and made no sense, to say the least. And to think that he had to travel so far for this was an even more irritating thought.

Only a few feet long was the road he had to travel down to reach the desired destination- his home, his chair and a glass of crimson beverage- as he stopped his horse, trying to figure out the scene happening near the front gates. A tall man, someone Mr. Lehnsherr had never seen in his life, was standing there nonchalantly, his back pressed against the fence. It did not take any deductive skills whatsoever to figure out that he was waiting for someone. It was near to impossible to see his face in great detail, but from what he could tell; the mysterious man was older than Mr. Lehnsherr, by good five, seven years. Was he awaiting his return?

 

The answer to the question revealed itself, as the gate’s door opened and none other than Mr. Moore was there. By the way he acted, it was clear that the visitor was someone he had known, but obviously not someone he wanted to spend a lot of time with, the tension in his motions giving that away.

The mysterious guest, on the contrary, seemed to be relaxed and was that a wicked sort smile on his face? Mr. Lehnsherr really wished he had a chance to hear what they were talking about, it appeared to be something very personal and not meant to be heard by others.

 

A couple of minutes passed, and Mr. Lehnsherr did not move a single inch, his intention was to see how their conversation would end, not to startle them. And the conversation indeed came to an abrupt end, as Mr. Moore grabbed something from visitor’s hand; from this distance it seemed like some sort of paper, a letter perhaps, and with evident disdain pushed the man away, as the other made an attempt to sneak around his waist, his hands clutching the fabric of Daniel’s vest and forcing him into a kiss. It was a rather shocking sight, but nevertheless, Mr. Lehnsherr had no intentions to intervene.

 

As the man gave up his persistent idea, of forcing Mr. Moore into doing something he did not want to do, he turned on his heel, and before disappearing completely into the dark of the evening, he said loud and clear, ‘It is not over, Charles, not yet! You owe me, don’t you dare to forget that!’

 

‘I owe you **nothing** ,’ was the heated reply as the gate loudly clanged shut, followed by quickly vanishing footsteps.


	4. Regrets

**_“Charles, oh my dear Charles, please tell me, tell me that this will come to an end one day?”_ **

****

**_“I promise you, you hear me, I promise you, darling- I’ll come back for you. No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice, I will come back for you. Just wait for me. Please…”_ **

_This memory, this unbearably agonizing memory resonated in his mind each and every night. He can still recall her voice; can still see the pain in her eyes as she watched him go. Her fragile hands releasing his, for she knew better than anyone did that he must leave. For how many days and nights had he blamed himself for leaving? How many times had he regretted walking away?_

**_“You have to go, Charles, please. There is no need for both of us to suffer like this.”_ **

_He opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times at the ceiling, trying to ignore the presence of a person in his room. The night was quiet and he had no intention of starting a conversation with a mysterious midnight visitor, although he knew who it was and what brought him here, and to be more accurate – her._

_‘Miss Eyre,’ he said, adjusting his position so he could see the collocutor, ‘I called you, didn’t I? There is no need for you to look so puzzled. I know why you are here, although you haven’t got a slightest clue.’_

_Indeed, she was perplexed, her eyes wandering from Mr. Moore to the window, then to the writing table and back._

_‘Sir?’ she began, at a loss as to what she should say, ‘I do not know what has gotten into me. I just woke up, got out of bed and came here, with no ill intention in mind.’_

_‘Miss Eyre, please calm down,’ he gestured at her to look the other way. As he got off the bed and reached for his garments, he added, ‘There is no need for you to apologize.’_

_‘But sir-’_

_‘It was me who called you,’ he explained, now standing in front of her, fully dressed, his gaze boring into Jane’s eyes, searching for a gleam of understanding of the situation she was in._

_‘You, sir? But how is that even possible? I did not hear your voice.’ The obvious disbelief seeping through, not that she had much experience when it came down to being misled by men, but somehow, she was not set on to believing him._

_‘And you don’t need to hear me speak,’ he stopped in the doorframe, his fingertips brushing over the wood; **You can hear me now, can’t you?**_

_The shock, the evident shock in her eyes was the answer that he needed and he could not help but notice that Jane’s reaction was the exact same as hers – his beloved friend’s. The mere recollection of her, made him turn away, his heart throbbing ever so painfully, fresh wounds not even close to being healed._

_~_ _..._ _~_

_‘So Ms. Eyre, this is my secret,’ he said, not planning on giving away the whole secret of course, no one, not a single soul needs to know the rest, ‘aren’t you going to say anything?’_

_She just sat there, not making a single sound, just starring into the thin air in front of her, her features heavy with deep thought. The night wind played with her hair, the moonlight gracing her pale face with a mysterious depth. Minutes passed and nothing changed, she seemed to be lost in thought, contemplating whether to believe him or not. He let her take her time. She exhaled, her lips beginning their motion, but no words left, only an unspoken question in her eyes – are you even real?_

_He ignores the silent enquiry, for he wished that he were not, with all of his heart._

_‘Does Mr. Lehnsherr know, sir?’ she finally spoke, her voice seemingly a calm tune, hands resting on her skirt._

_He snapped to attention, his gaze moving from the gorgeous garden to Jane’s face, not quite sure how to react to such an absurd question. Of course, Mr. Lehnsherr does not know, he would not be standing before her otherwise._

_‘You just found out that the person before you can read your most deep and secret thoughts in a blink of an eye, and the thing that worries you the most is whether or not your master knows about this?’ A soft, barely audible chuckle, ‘You never cease to amaze me, Miss Eyre.’_

_Jane did not answer, for she was not sure what Mr. Moore had in mind, nor what his true intentions were. An awkward silence fell between them. Mr. Moore was the one to lift it._

_‘Miss Eyre,’ he began, his voice steady and composed, his features indecipherable, ‘I need you to help me.’_

 

~...~

 

Yet another morning meal was an assembly of tensed motions, averted gazes and awkward silences from the unwary. Despite his life experience, Mr. Lehnsherr was not accustomed to the situation he found himself in now. The man sitting across the table gave him a headache, and he would gladly give half of his fortune just to ignore the fact that it was the most ridiculously pleasant one, for god knows what reason. He was starring at the younger man, eyes focused, and not paying attention to anything else around him. 

 

Mr. Moore, on the contrary, did not let his façade crumble; he had a lovely smile gracing his features, for he did not intend to display his restlessness with the circumstances he was in. He did not want to keep eye contact with Mr. Lehnsherr for more than necessary, for his intense, dark gaze was sending tingling sensations down his spine, sweet and thrilling, just like during their rendezvous on the stairs the other night. He hated to admit it, but Mr. Lehnsherr intrigued him- if that is even an appropriate word to describe it- on more levels than he probably should and the fact that his thoughts are directed at him – _just at him_ \- made the blood rush in his veins. He did not pry any further into that cacophony, although he was very tempted to.

 

Short and pointless conversations were shared for the sole purpose of breaking the uneasiness when it became just about unbearable to sit and listen to the tune of the food being consumed. Although the meal was a delight to the stomach, Mr. Moore was the first one to place his fork on the table and excused himself, feeling Mr. Lehnsherr’s eyes following him as he left the dining room. _Escaping from the morning feast was a trouble-free endeavor_ , he thought for a brief moment, before closing the door to his room, away from curious eyes and questions.

 

 

 ~...~

 

He could not find any strength in him to do it; he did not open the letter, it just lay there on the table, abandoned, from the last night. For the rather humble –in his opinion- telepathic gift that he had, he actually _could_ read what was there without opening it, but he did not. It was frightening; the mere idea of _what_ that piece of paper held was nerve wracking. He stared at the envelope for no one knew how long and with a forced determination, his lips a thin line, eyebrows knitted in a frown- he opened it.

 

And he wished he hadn’t.

 

The throbbing pain in his chest made its return with a new, much stronger force. The tide of emotions swallowed him whole, as his eyes ran over the ink. It was her handwriting, but not her words. Her plea for help between the lines, that only he could see. The never-ending feeling of guilt, helplessness, and disgust with himself was there again, erupting in his gut. He crashed on the bed, his hands covering his face, the letter lying on the ground near his feet. He felt sick.

 

 

~...~

 

‘Leaving so soon?’

 

Mr. Moore did not turn around; he just threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Heavy rain obstructed his vision and the late night did not help. He truly hoped that midnight would conceal his disappearance, but that had failed miserably. Regardless, he knew who it was; he could feel the man standing a couple of feet away, determination in his voice and a tangled knot of thoughts in his head- far too complex and deep for Daniel to read, not in the state he was in now.

 

‘I believe I exploited your hospitality for far too long, sir,’ he said as he continued to make his way to the main gate, ‘I am leaving now.’

 

‘In the storm like this?’ The sound of approaching footsteps echoed throughout the empty garden.

 

‘Yes, sir,’ it came out more irritated than he intended to, but nevertheless, that _was_ how he truly felt at the moment- irritated, angry and anxious. ‘I apologize for my discourteous departure, I suppose I should have warned you beforehand.’       

 

‘I suppose you should have.’ Mr. Lehnsherr was standing right behind him; not even this downpour could block out his focused mind, his resolve to get the answers that he sought from Mr. Moore, right here and right now. The tensed silence stung his ears, but he refused to continue this pointless conversation; it would lead nowhere.

 

A couple of steps towards his leave and he could not believe his eyes, as the gate handle morphed into something defying description, with a blaring screech similar to the one of a fork being dragged along a platter, the pitch of which was multiplied by dozen. He was so glad that he did not touch it; his mind presenting him a rather vicious image of what might have happened to his hand. He involuntarily shrugged at the thought. It took him a split second to solve the puzzle at hand, for he was well aware of the existence of ‘ _non-humans’_ ; Mr. Lehnsherr was a changeling, much like himself, with an exceptional gift.

 

‘I believe you won’t be taking your leave that quickly, my friend. Not before I hear the answers that I seek.’ He could see the startled look in Mr. Moore’s eyes; he nearly tripped as he turned around, shocked to see Mr. Lehnsherr right in front of him, only an inch of distance between them. He was invading his personal space – _again_. If it was a better time and a better place, Mr. Moore would have cracked a joke about his personal space being a magnet, or something of the sort, but that thought escaped the boundaries of his mind in great haste, leaving nothing but the numb void behind as he heard Mr. Lehnsherr speak.

 

‘Where are you running off to, _Charles_?’

 

And Charles forgot how to breathe.

 


	5. Miasma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy! :D The twist (one of) will be revealed soon!~

He _knows_.

 

The realization of this just petrified him, he could not speak, he could only blink, and he could not _breathe_. The man in front of him knew that he was no Daniel Moore and the mere thought of what _else_ he might know was terrifying, sending dead cold chills down his spine. But the sound of the thoughts bordering on the verge of his mind, the ones that were easy to catch, nearly no concentration needed- were calm and collected, regardless that he had just caught a fraud leaving his house. His thoughts were running back and forth, something about a white piece of cloth in his pocket and- Charles’ eyes grew wide as he finally understood what that was, that something Mr. Lehnsherr had in his pocket.

 

As if Mr. Lehnsherr was a telepath himself, his hand reached for the piece of fabric and pulled it out for the man in front of him to see. In a split second, the white cloth was soaking wet, droplets falling onto the ground between two men.

 

‘I believe that it is yours?’ He did not make any attempts to take any step further, but by the way Charles backed down, eyes wandering from the cloth to his face and back again, he believed that some traitorous thought might have given him away. He wanted the truth. Preferably not the one acquired by force. ‘Is it not, Charles?’

 

Shivers ran through his whole body, making hair stand on their end; he was not used to others addressing him by his real name, only she…

 

‘The initials on this handkerchief,’ Mr. Lehnsherr went on, ‘“C.X.” they are yours, I believe?’

 

‘Where did you get that?’ Avoiding the questions regarding his real name was the best option he had now. He wholeheartedly regretted not learning the ‘memory obliteration’ technique when he had a chance, it would have been so much easier to deal with what he had on his hands now.

 

‘That was not the question that I asked,’ his voice became sharper, ‘ _Charles_.’

 

If it were not for the horrid downpour that was obstructing his vision rather acutely, and for pitch-black night surrounding them, he might have just grabbed the piece of cloth and ran away. That thought was pushed to the deepest corner of his mind, as he recalled that the only means of his retreat were cut off –metal gate no longer being an option. He could take his chance and dash over the fence, but no, not really, too high. What other options did he have?

 

Mr. Lehnsherr was just standing there, soaking to the bone and most likely freezing, patience leaving him with each moment passed in silence, his eyes glued to the younger man, jaw in a tensed line.

 

A deafening roar of thunder and the nearly blinding light from the lightening that attacked the earth not far from where they were was like a heaven sent opportunity that Charles did not fail to grasp. Snatching the white fabric from Mr. Lehnsherr’s hand, and making a run for his life, was _the most_ insane thing that he had ever done in his life.

 

 ...

 

He could feel the blood pounding in his ears so loudly that he actually assumed that he would be deaf when this would all end. He ran as fast as he could to what he believed was the far eastern side of the garden. He had noticed earlier today that there was a little slope of sand right next to the fence, the one that one of the workers had left laying there, in the honest hope of finishing whatever he was planning on doing with it tomorrow morning. And _that_ was the only means of Charles’ escape, to use that slope as a bridge of sorts and climb over the fence.

 

The footsteps behind him were louder and louder, he knew that Mr. Lehnsherr was gaining on him, that he _would_ catch him, but he would not be himself if he did not give his all. A hand grabbed his coat, dragging him back with a force that Charles never imagined Mr. Lehnsherr had. He turned around to face the other man, all the while trying to wriggle his way out. Between heated words and muttered curses, they stumbled and nearly fell, the back of Charles’ head making incredibly painful contact with a massive tree. That was going to hurt tomorrow, _if_ tomorrow ever came, that is.

 

Back pressing painfully into the wood, his mind was rushing through any sort of way to get out of this alive. A bright, but rather insane idea popped in his head- he had nothing to lose. He pulled his arm free from the deadly grip and pressed his lips against Mr. Lehnsherr’s, _hard_ \- a fleeting, desperate hope of throwing the other man off balance. A wave of surprise and astonishment swallowed him whole, the kiss answered with fervent passion -nothing gentle or caring about it. And the little voice in his mind was screaming at him, furious at his lack of common sense –“just step on his foot, give him a hit to the ribs and _run_!” But all of that might as well go to the deepest pits of Hell, he truly wished to just forget _everything_ , forget himself and the cruel, inhumane deed that must be done by his own hand- forget it all and just let that strong body press flush against his own, his fingers finding their way underneath his scarf –igniting his skin beneath the ice-cold touch. He felt like he was set on fire and that maybe, just maybe, he could be saved.

 

But something changed, a miasmic momentum of something piercing his senses, forcefully brushing over the edges of his mind, trying to pry deeper into his consciousness- trying to subdue him, control him. His mind, being no ordinary one, had the means to shield off from the persistent intruder. But it weren’t all of the surprises for tonight, oh no.

 

The kiss came to an abrupt end and his azure eyes snapped open, sharp pain echoing throughout his nerve system, as the blood was seeping through the broken skin of his lower lip, the crimson red gracing the elder man’s lips now. And before he had a chance to blink, his brain registered the sudden lack of oxygen in his lungs, Mr. Lehnsherr’s fingers closing around his neck, fingers digging deep. The silent exclamation stumbled off his lips, as he clutched his shoulder, his fear-filled eyes looking at him. Those eyes, the eyes that stared right back at Charles, the blend of emotions that they held- the desire to snap his frail neck and something else, something that Charles needed time to figure out, but with those fingers clutching his neck, he did not have any of it.

 

With all of his will power that was left, he tried to invade Mr. Lehnsherr’s mind- to command him to release him at once- but he _could not_. Some sort of block, something he could not comprehend, something sharp pierced his brain _again_ like a thousand needles. 

 

 _Fear_.

 

That when the true, mind-numbing fear crept its way to Charles heart and he could feel the panic quickly building up in his gut. His eyes grew wide with shock, as he now knew that he had no means to stop this man, he was helpless. 

 

He could feel the welcoming darkness embracing him as the pale moon gazed down on them with a wicked gleam.


	6. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 is up! :D Finally. It took me forever to get it right (still not very satisfied with the ending of this installment, but oh well). Hope you all enjoy!

  


**_-Erik-_ **

_The voice echoed throughout his system, through every vein and resonated in his blood, making him cringe with what seemed a far too familiar response of all his senses. He was desperate; for the life of himself he wanted to get away from that voice, the sickening feelings that it brought were drumming away in his chest with dreadful rhythm._

**_-You know that it is your obligation; it is your duty-_ **

_He tried to keep the feeling of nausea at bay, tried to ignore the revolting feeling building up in his gut as he walked passed the massive doors shut tight, trying to hold his breath and not, by any means, not inhale the smell coming from behind them. The long descending road down the corridor was the definition of torture- it reeked- of desiccated blood and vomit and rot. He heard someone shouting, someone begging either for mercy or for a quick and painless death. Little did they know that they would get neither._

**_-Why do you always let me down, Erik?-_ **

_He refused, yet again. The metal beneath his fingers did not even flinch. The ice blue eyes stared right back at him, perplexed and at a loss, and maybe just a little grateful._

**_-My dear Erik, you leave me no other choice-_**

…

 

It took quite a long time for his eyes to adjust, and as he snapped them open, only several moments later did the sight became decently focused. He could make out the bright golden light engulfing the room, something soft and supposedly white around his body – a coverlet, perhaps? - and something dark grey in the far corner of the room, although he was not sure what it was or its color and frankly, he could not care less. 

 

He closed his eyes again and with a determined sigh, heaved his body off the bed. Never was getting up so complicated- he stood up too fast, head swirling, blood pounding in his ears, and legs giving away- they were no support whatsoever- and he had little choice left but to cling to the nearest wall, as if his life depended on it. His eyes fell shut again, under the weight of the eyelids, and he took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale, over and over and over until the deafening roar in his ears finally succumbed to his mind’s desperate plea of calm and rest. Most likely, people would describe this feeling as ‘a nail being hammered into one’s head’, but no, not close, not even in the slightest.  _Oh the unwary and oblivious people,_  he thought as a crooked, broken smile crept its way on his face, sad, but so true- he may be the only one who knows the actual feeling.

 

His poor eyes still had difficulty adjusting to such fast movements, but by the sound of it and accompaniment of slurred images before him, he figured that the door had just swung open and the blurry shapes rushing to his side were people. He instantly recognized the voice- Jane.

 

“Mr. Lehnsherr, sir!” The concern in her voice made her sound almost anxious, fretful even. “You ought not to get up, sir, please go to bed!”

 

As much as he despised following orders, he had to admit that it was neither an order, but a plea, nor was he feeling that well to protest or even stand up straight, so he obliged. He could feel the fragile hands wrap around his arm and lead him, ever so carefully, back to bed. There was an unfamiliar figure right next to her, someone he was not sure that he knew.

 

“Sir, this is Mr. Rees, he would look at your wound now.” She stepped aside, giving the man beside her way to reach him.

 

“Mister Who?” Lehnsherr remained calm on the outside, although he frantically tried to focus and see this Mr. Rees more clearly, “…wound?”

 

“Please, sir, do not strain your eyes,” Mr. Rees said, in a quiet and collected tone, all the while searching for something in a black portmanteau, “Miss Eyre, get some hot water and clean cloth, would you please?”

 

And with that she left, her footsteps echoing down the corridor and disappearing completely in a short time.

...

 

“How are you feeling today, Mr. Lehnsherr?” the man went on with his questioning, still absorbed with his task of searching for something, only looking up to look at his patient once the silence stretched out for too long, “Is the vertigo still bothering you? Did the nausea still not subside?”

 

Lehnsherr remained silent; he was looking straight at the other man’s face, sight more focused now and he could finally make out the details. Mr. Rees was a man of old age, with deep wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, his beard long and astonishingly white. He looked more like a sage from an old story book, a made up character, not a real person. But he was there, and he seemed fairly real as he reached out to palm either side of Mr. Lehnsherr’s face and turned his head to the side, looking at something attentively. In a few moments he turned Lehnsherr to face him again and said, “You do not remember me, do you, sir?"

 

“I’m afraid, I do not.”         

 

“That what I had feared,” he said, looking deep into Lehnsherr’s eyes now, as if trying to find something there, “Tell me, sir, what is the last thing that you remember?”

 

And it started to come back to him- the dread in those ocean blue eyes, starring right back at him, the silent scream escaping those red red lips as his own fingers dug deep into the tender flesh of that neck, the crimson trail gracing that gorgeous face, the droplets of blood falling from that chin and the taste of iron in his own mouth. Yes, he remembered now, he remembered the miasmic feeling, the moment of losing control over his own body, the feeling of every sense going numb and the voice whispering something indecipherable in his head. The  _voice_. He knew that voice! As much as he wanted to jump off the bed and deal with the things that were uncovered before him, he still could not recall anything concerning the wound. None of this should have been known to anyone from the outside, so he lied to Mr. Rees, pretending that he never did assault Charles, “I remember taking a walk in the garden, and it was night by then. It was raining and the storm had just begun… and that is about it.”

 

“Is that all?” Mr. Rees quirked his eyebrow, “Don’t you remember how you injured your head?”   

 

“My head?” Instinctly Lehnsherr reached for the back of his head, finding bandages there, as fingers brushed over the fabric. He hissed- that was the source of all his predicaments, all right, “Where did that come from?”

 

“I was hoping that  _you_  would tell me,” the man sighed, and reached to massage the bridge of his nose, “Miss Eyre was the one who found you. She claims that she went outside and saw you lying there on the ground. Apparently, you slipped and fell- that is the cause of your head trauma.”   

 

“Apparently?”

 

“Yes. Although, I do have my doubts, regarding the fall, but- “

 

“What doubts?” Lehnsherr was getting impatient; he did not enjoy riddle-talk like this.

 

“There is a small possibility that such severe injury could be caused by a mere slip-and-fall,” Mr. Rees scratched his beard for a moment, before continuing, “I’m not saying that it’s  _impossible,_ all I do want to say is that it seems more like you had suffered from a blow to your head, sir.”

 

Before Mr. Lehnsherr could utter a word in reply, the door opened and Jane had returned with hot water and a clean cloth hanging from her elbow; their eyes met and just then he finally recalled the true events of that dreadful night.

…

 

“Where is he?” was his first question, the very moment Mr. Rees had stepped past the doorway, “Is Ch- is Daniel alright?”

 

“He is quite alright, sir,” Jane was seated beside him, trying to look occupied with something trivial, but it was clear that she just needed some excuse to avoid direct eye contact.

 

“Jane,” his hand covered hers, squeezing it lightly, yet she remained motionless, “it was you, wasn’t it? The one who saved him that night?”

 

A moment’s hesitation and a barely audible ‘yes’, was the answer. The heavy silence stretched out for miles, crushing the residents of the room under its weight. After another moment that seemed to have lasted forever, she had freed her hand and took a deep breath.

 

“I do not know what had gotten into me, sir,” she began, her voice shaking just a little, was it from worry or fear, Lehnsherr could not tell, “but the moment I had spotted you, with your hands around his throat-“ she paused, a pained expression on her face.

 

He did not say a word, his silence urging her to go on, and so she did, “I had to help him, sir. I just had to. The only means of doing that was to…”

 

“…knock me unconscious?” he finished the sentence for her. He did not need her to tell him the full story, for he remembered everything now, every moment in great detail, starting with the startled look on Charles’ face to the midnight chase and devouring heat of their bodies flushed against each other, all the way to him lying on the ground and drifting into darkness, as she stood above him with a piece of wood in her hands, shaking like a leaf in the wind.     

 

“I shall leave the Thornfield Hall first thing in the morning, sir,” her voice just above a whisper, bitter and remorseful. 

 

He just blinked, looking right back at her pale face and remained silent. His not making a sound was a cue for her to continue, and to explain herself.

 

“I cannot stay, sir. Not after what I did,” she gestured weakly, pointing at his bandaged head, “I don’t think that I could ever look you in the eye and not feel this pain and shame, sir.”

 

She was not going to cry, but her voice just shed oceans of tears. He took her hand, holding it tightly, earning her bewildered gaze.

 

“Jane,” he began, “What sort of nonsense are you talking about? You will stay-“

 

“But, sir-“

 

“You saved a  _life_ ,” his grip around her palm tightened, “Does it mean nothing to you? You should be proud.”

 

“Pride is a deadly vice, sir.”

…

 

“Are you sure you can stand, sir?” She was there, right next to him the next morning, for whatever reason, she did not leave. And Lehnsherr was grateful; he did not want her to feel ashamed or rejected or exiled. Never again.

 

“Yes, more than ever. Now,” he pointed to his waistcoat and scarf, indicating that Jane should give those garments to him quickly; he was rather impatient to get dressed as soon as possible.

 

“Forgive my prying, sir, but what is the hurry?” she said, all the while rushing back and forth, lost in helping her lord, getting that scarf neatly tied, and balancing him almost in mid-air when he was lightheaded, nearly falling, and every small thing in-between.

 

“Is he awake?” he asked that on his way to the door, marching in wide steps, “I need to talk to him.”

 

“He had left, sir.”

 

He stopped. “What?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I tried to make him stay-“

 

“When?” He was motionless. “When did he leave?”

 

“Last night-“

 

“Last night?!” He did not turn around to face her, but by his pale knuckles on the wooden knob, she knew what sort of expression graced Mr. Lehnsherr’s face now, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“You were so tired and exhausted from what had happened, that I thought it was for the best, sir,” she remained calm, trying not to fuel the flame more, “I believed… I believed that he would stay, sir.”

 

The door swung open only to be shut in a moment, with a deafening sound bouncing off the walls in the room, as Mr. Lehnsherr strode out, not saying a word.


	7. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is up! Finally! It's been nearly _three_ months since the last update, I'm so sorry D: I've been suffering from critical writer's block. But! It's gone now and I'm already typing away the 8th chapter! YAY!
> 
> I hope that you'll enjoy this installment!

 

It had been three days. Three long days of anxious thoughts, invading his mind, with no one there to help him get rid of them and calm his mind. He had nightmares. Not the usual ones -the ones with blood and murder and violence- but the ones where Charles was gone, lost to him and never found. They were far worse, for every night he woke up in cold sweat with his heart threatening to shatter.

 

He hated this with all of his might. Hated the slow pace of his journey; he was traveling for three days and still had not reached his destination. Mrs. Fairfax had begged him to stay, to be reasonable, he had a wound that was not yet healed –if it would ever heal completely at all- it’s not wise to travel anywhere, or to leave the estate in the first place. He brushed her off, trying his very best not to be extremely rude. Adele was asking too many questions, none of them making any sense; and Jane was silent. She did not make any attempts to stop him, she knew better than that.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

_  
_

_“Who do you think you are?!” He came in, door swinging open violently; he was shouting nearly at the top of his lungs, “How dare you! How dare you invade my mind!”_

_She said nothing, just looked at him with a nonchalant look, her ice-blue eyes calm as the night sea. She was beyond beautiful- her skin nothing short of perfection, crisp white hair that gracefully covered her shoulders, she was clad in a pure white dress._

_He came up to her, closing the distance with wide steps, and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her all the way up to face him. “Emma,” he said, his voice quieter, but the rage was still there, “Explain yourself.”_

_She just laughed and wriggled her arm free. “You should be thanking me.” She sat back down on the crimson bed, looking like a single little snowflake in the ocean of blood, “I was trying to save you.”_

_He ignored her words and went on, “How did you manage to get into my head?”  Indeed, this was a vital question, Emma, being a changeling with mind-reading abilities and not stable, was a dangerous threat to everyone in the Thornfield Hall, which is why Erik had made this- her secret room. With walls so thick that nothing and no one would be able to sneak through, not even a single thought._

_“Oh darling,” she smiled and patted the bed besides her, a rather obvious invitation for Mr. Lehnsherr to sit next to her, he disregarded it instantly and her smile fell. “How characteristically rude, Erik.”_

_“Stop avoiding the question,” he nearly growled out, he was tired of her antics, “Answer me.”_

_“As I said,” there were no more smiles or tricks anymore, “I was saving you, you poor oblivious fool.”_

_“How did you get out?” Erik insisted, barely paying attention to her insults._

_“How blind are you, loveling? What spell did that man cast over you?” She went on, treading on thin ice, “He would be better off dead… Do you want to know why?”_

_By the way Erik was gritting his teeth, he was sure that he would whittle them down. He was losing patience and time._

_“He is a menace to our existence, to **your** existence and I want him dead.”   _

____________________________________________________________________________________________

_  
_

He sighed, exhausted and worn out from the humid heat the summer had bestowed. Getting Emma to talk resulted in utter failure, and during that dreadful moment, he felt that he had no lead, no clue as to Charles’ whereabouts. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this, chasing after him, but after seeing the letter –Charles’ letter- he had no option but to, among other obvious reasons that he chose to stubbornly deny.

 

It was left on the Charles’ bed; it seemed that he had left everything behind, not just this small piece of paper. The handwriting was flawless, very feminine and sophisticated. Most part of the letter was torn, so from the bits and pieces all he could read was the place where Charles should go in case if something goes wrong, something about Todbringend Grange –the name made Erik cringe bone-deep- and a name ‘Raven’.

 

The sanctuary that was mentioned in the letter was five days’ ride from Thornfield Hall and the fact that Charles had departed almost a day earlier than Erik, was unnerving. He might as well be gone and Erik had doubts that he would be lucky enough to discover another helpful letter conveniently waiting for him.  

 

 

The wooden floor below Charles’ feet creaked disapprovingly, judging him for intruding. He smiled, he still remembered the places where the floor would creak and make a noise, even after all these years. It felt like an eternity since he had last been here, and he wanted to smile from the happy memories of this place, but he cannot. Not when he raised his head up and saw the sky, clear blue peeking out, a contrast to the horrid black of the walls, the stairs, and the second floor of the house was no longer there, as if it had never existed in the first place. All that remained are ruins of dust, dirt, and soot.

 

He came across the long hallway, the only thing that remained almost completely unharmed by the fire, and opened the door, or what was left of it, anyway. It used to be a reading room back then, now there was nothing left of what it used to be. No books to tell the stories, no chairs to welcome him, just complete and dead stillness.

 

This was the safe haven Charles comes back to, regardless that there is little left in here to protect him. The house, where they used to live, where all the memories are tucked away, would be a place Charles would come back to until the day he died.

 

The house had burned down when Charles was fourteen and his beloved sister, Raven, just thirteen. The flames had consumed the lives of their parents, leaving them alone and helpless in the cruel world. Truth be told, the house was set on fire. The people in the town had somehow found out about Charles and Raven and their abilities, thus the fear and hatred seeds were sown. On October 17th, a cold night, Charles woke up to a scream that was his mother’s. Everything happened so fast that even now, after all these years of remembering and thorough analyzing, he still cannot recall all of the details. He remembered the heat, the fire devouring everything in its way, the sight of Raven crying over the dead body of their father, half of his body gruesome and burned, and the people- standing outside, looking at the house that soon would be nothing but remnants of the life and happiness the Xavier family once had. They survived, while the rest of the town assumed that they had died that night.

 

Life did not get much better as the years went by. Charles had turned seventeen and somehow managed to get a job at the docks, a change that was very much welcome. Raven tried to convince him that she was old enough to find some sort of work, but Charles refused, month after month- he would rather die than to not provide food for his sister, even if it was a poor excuse for food to begin with. 

 

One day, however, Charles came back to their so-called home –an abandoned, almost falling apart shed on the outskirts of the town they lived in back then- and Raven was not alone. She was chirping away happily, talking about something with a man, by the looks of it that would be somewhere in his thirties. He turned to face Charles, when Raven exclaimed that her brother is here, and his face had close to no kindness on it. It made him feel uneasy, small fits of panic churned in his gut; the look he gave Charles, a look of evaluation –from head to toe- made Charles’ heart flip. He regretted that it never occurred to him at the time to read the man’s mind.   

 

Everything had changed from that day on. There was no turning back, if only he had known that then. It was wonderful from the start, it truly was. After spending three years on the streets, it’s a miracle that they survived at all, and now, having a chance to live under a normal roof, to be able to eat more than once in a couple of days and sleep under soft sheets- it was everything and even more that they could ever dream of. They were thankful that mysterious man had found them and given them new home. Although, Charles never told Raven about the creeping feeling of doubt and fear he had had whenever the man had laid his eyes on him.

 

They were not alone in the house. As the mysterious man –named Schmidt- had explained to Charles one day, this place was a school for gifted youngsters, such as Charles himself and Raven. And those words were true, there were children and young men and women of various ages, each one of them –a changeling with unique abilities. It was astonishing; every fiber of Charles’ being was excited at the possibility to be around these people, to be taught of how to enhance his power. He needed it and he wanted to protect Raven from any harm that may ever come their way. Raven was thrilled too, but probably not as much as Charles was; her temper and attitude were causing some friction with the other changelings, that’s how she was and will always be.

 

Charles cannot state the exact date, or even the month, when everything had drastically changed for the worse. It was beautiful and wonderful for so many months, and yet, in the blink of an eye, the wonders turned into nightmares. It was much later on, when the so-called ‘modus operandi ’ was explained as he was thoroughly, methodically ‘taught an invaluable lesson,’ his whole body in pain, crumbling from Schmidt’s brutal thrusts.

 

 

 


	8. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh dear, there is no excuse. I'm so so very sorry for not updating this fic for a year (!!), just- so ashamed. But I'm back on the track and I hope it won't happen again. 
> 
> PLEASE READ: This chapter is extremely triggery. Please read with caution.

****

_‘You are so beautiful, Charles.’_

_These words were supposed to convey, if not love, but at the very least, tenderness and fondness, appreciation of the person they’re addressed to, but there was none of it. The words whispered against his skin felt cold and empty, lacking any sort of empathy for his bruised flesh and mind._

_‘Why won’t you say a word to me?’_

_He was persistent. Unfortunately, Charles had figured **that** out quite some time ago. Schmidt believed that he could obtain anything he desired, and in all likelihood, he would. He had means to manipulate the people around him, means to make them yield to his will –by force as well, if it was necessary. He surely was not accustom to rejection in any form, so when his eye fell onto young, vibrant boy, he knew what he desired from that point on, he knew that Charles would be a perfect candidate. _

_The astonishment written on his face when Charles said ‘no’ and wrangled his arm free, away from those pale hands, had piqued his interest even more; he was determined to have, now. In one way or another, he did achieve that goal; he indeed had the power over Charles’ body, but never over his mind. And that fact alone, made his blood boil- in order for his plan to work, he needed to make Charles **his** \- both mind and body. _

_‘Let me enlighten you,’ he had said, placing chaste kisses against freckled skin, a sickening mockery of lovers’ intimacy that made Charles stomach clench; night after night, day after day, he babbled complete nonsense that made Charles believe that Schmidt was indeed, a madman. He was young back then, thus he did not focus on the words he had heard, he was too pre-occupied with trying to ignore the burning feeling, the feeling of sore muscle –bruised and aching, never given enough time to heal- being stretched beyond its limits again, and each and every time he was left breathless, not a single puff of air was able to escape, he felt like he would suffocate from inside out; the air was there but it refused to leave._

_And it was not the possessive taking of what ‘was his and his alone’, with teeth and all too demanding hands; the thing that disgusted Charles the most was the way he treated him afterwards. Like a porcelain doll, which he could have effortlessly broken, which was close to actually falling apart just a couple of moments ago- was now the most precious thing that needed soothing and was in need of  kisses- that made Charles see red. What was the purpose of this sickening comfort? At times like those, he desperately clung to his sanity, to his only anchor in this world- his Raven. So he had to oblige the rules: if any attempt to control Schmidt’s mind would occur, Charles won’t be the one to suffer the consequences, oh no. The little angel, with locks of gold and eyes of blue would be held responsible, and he would never, never allow that to happen._

_Amongst yet another cascade of peppering kisses and hushed nothings, besides hearing his own teeth grinding, Charles did remember the story Schmidt had told him once, just this once. Brushing his hair back, in the manner that may have been mistaken for delicate by some, Charles could feel the way those pale fingers grazed his scalp and in a moment the hand stopped, locking his nape in a firm hold, clearly making a point that he demanded attention to the words he was about to say, for whatever reason that story seemed to matter to Schmidt._

_The story of kleine Erik Lehnsherr._

_There once was a boy, whose spirit was as strong as steel, with power strong as a howling storm, with potential that could outshine the mightiest kings, and with heart nothing short of gold. With love and care he was surrounded, with respect and kindness he was brought up. His life – a quintessential picture-perfect living, until one dreadful night, when the clad-black man arrived and with boy’s tears and screams the perfect picture tore in-two._

_“Move the coin, my little boy, we both know you can.”_

_Over and over the boy had tried, but the cold metal just lay there, mocking and disobedient._

_“We shall proceed in a manner not to your liking then,” the man had said, “Move the coin, you selfish boy, I am counting down from three.”_

_With shaking hands and bowed down head, the boy had tried again. In a moment’s time, the deafening chime had torn his world to shreds. To his dismay, his mother stilled and fell. With lifeless eyes and trembling hand she bade her son farewell. She closed her eyes with a heavy sigh and never breathed again._

_Charles was no fool; he did not need any assistance in understanding that the black-clad man in the story was indeed Schmidt and by his wicked and cruel hand the life of young Erik had ceased to ever be the same. By his hands that boy had lost his mother, the most loving person in his life, the person that was loved and cherished just as much in turn. Mother- an invaluable part of human life, the source of strength and reliance, a part of one’s entity- and he just stripped it from him- from this boy._

_He tried to go on with his disgusting story, but Charles refused to listen, pushed the man away and began putting his nightshirt back on. Schmidt was never in favor of this sort of behaviour, so when Charles hissed from the sudden pain from the fingers closing in on the nape of his neck again, Schmidt only leered._

_‘My boy,’ he said, his fingers digging deep into Charles’ skin, ‘You ought to know better- such  discourteous conduct I will not stand. Remind me again,’ his other hand began circling Charles’ knee, in few moments already abandoning its position only to find its way up the freckled thigh, ‘What were the rules?’_

_Charles chose to ignore the question and bit his cheek as a precaution, in hopes of stopping himself from doing something stupid. Oh, he was so tempted to._

_As the pale hand had reached its destination between his thighs, fingers snaking around and getting a firm grip on what the nightshirt was supposed to conceal, Schmidt finally released Charles’ nape from his vice-like grip and was now playing with his hair. He leaned in, trailed his lips along Charles’ cheek, kissed the corner of his mouth, and was now close enough to whisper, ‘You say you love me-‘_

_Charles’ eyes grew huge at that, furious and repulsed, he could not reel himself back in, could not stop it from happening- the surge of overwhelming emotion took a hold of him and he spat in Schmidt’s face, pushing him away with such force, that the man nearly fell off the bed._

_‘You **swine**!’ He purposefully wiped his cheek, trying to rub away any remnants of Schmidt ever touching him. It didn’t take long for Schmidt to recuperate though, he seemed amused by such turn of events, eyes wide and lips crooked in a toothy grin. In a second, he was up and now it was Charles who fell back on the pillows behind him- the slap across his face was painful and so very sudden. _

_Taking a hold of Charles was not a hindrance for him any longer; the young boy was simply trapped underneath his weight. Charles, on the other hand, was not set on giving up; he writhed against the sheets, yelling indecencies and curses- but to no avail. He tried hitting him with an elbow, but that plan failed as Schmidt twisted his arm behind his back. Trying his very best to ignore the pain, Charles could not hold in the yelp as he was pulled by his hair, up and up, feeling like his neck would snap soon._

_‘Now,’ Schmidt was breathing hard; Charles could feel the ragged puffs of air against his throat. He rubbed his body against young boys’, he truly enjoyed it- he was hard and wasn’t going to let it go unnoticed, ‘Is this how you choose to play it? What would your mama and papa say if they saw you like this?’_

_Charles only made inarticulate noises, Schmidt had trod that road before, tried to get an emotional outburst from him by using his deceased parents as a leverage- it won’t work. Not anymore. Seeing that indeed, his plan fell flat, Schmidt tried a different approach, ‘I thought we didn’t have to go so far, but you left me no other choice…’ Those words spoken and in a moment Charles’ head fell back on the pillows, and he was released. Schmidt idly looked around and with sigh, got up._

_Such silence was never a good sign._

_Charles turned around, now lying on his back, eyes searching all over Schmidt’s face for any indication of what he might do next. Their eyes meet and Charles could feel a cold shiver running down his back- oh god, please no._

_As if Schmidt was a changeling with mind-reading abilities himself, he took a step closer to the door and shouted to the guard that stood watch behind it, ‘Bring me the girl!’_

_‘No!’ Charles was shocked and frightened now, he truly was, for he has no idea what he might do to Raven, it never had happened before. ‘You can’t!’_

_Schmidt only raised his eyebrows, ‘I **can’t**?’ _

_Charles instantly bit his tongue; he was too panicked to choose his words wisely._

_‘You are in no position to tell me what to do. Remember our deal, Charles?’ he said, leaning down. ‘It’s **you** who didn’t follow the rules and now you are the one to blame for whatever may happen to your poor little sister.’     _

_He shouted again and the guard said something in return, but Charles could barely hear anything besides the roar of blood in his ears; he had to do something, he **must**. He made a decision within seconds- this kind of diversion would most likely work and will save his precious sister from this monster of a man. _

_As Schmidt was about to enquire about Raven and her whereabouts again, Charles rushed to his side, grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down on the bed. Being pinned by this lunatic again was horrendous, but what options did he have? Before Schmidt could even blink, Charles was already kissing him. The diversion worked like a spell, if the way he fiercefully kissed Charles back is anything to go by._

_Schmidt seemed to be in a daze- frantic hands wandering all over Charles’ body. He refused to stop the kiss even for a single breath. He seemed more than lust-dazed, there was something else, something Charles tries his best to ignore. Ignore along with the feeling of being taken again- the movement of Schmidt’s body against his, the burning stretch of muscle. Ignore the stars before his eyes solely from the enormous ache his body had to endure in taking him in- Charles had never seen or **felt** Schmidt so aroused. _

_Involuntarily and just for a fraction of a second, Charles caught what was going on in Schmidt’s mind. It was a disarray of thoughts, but all of them eventually looping to – **Charles** \- and memories laying on the surface of Charles in various positions, and his own cock sliding in and out of that delicious freckled body. Amidst all that vile imagery, there was this razor-sharp and dark emotion, something no man should ever feel towards another human being- the keen, eager and raging infatuation. Something that could’ve been love, but evolved into this monstrosity- the feeling soiled and smeared beyond any recovery. _

_When the guard behind the doors asked something, Schmidt stilled and growled that the girl was no longer needed; he was angry and displeased at being interrupted at a moment like this. He looked at Charles when he spoke those words and the moment he caught the barely visible signs of relief on his young features, his own face almost split in two from a wicked grin._

_Bringing Charles closer to his body, he leaned down and sank his teeth in already abused neck. With a hiss, Charles’ eyes fell shut- that bite would leave a bruise. Schmidt licked the skin in a mocking attempt to make it hurt less and groaned in utter satisfaction, as he pushed back into that hot, round and tight heat. He kissed him again and again. Charles wanted to push him away, but he knew it would only infuriate him and god knew what would happen. So he let himself be kissed, let himself be taken as long as he was promised that Raven would never has to suffer through any of this or even worse. Not breaking away from Charles’ lips, Schmidt’s thrusts became faster and harder, unmistakably close to his end. After a couple of more moments, he tensed up all over, and burying himself deep into Charles, he let out a muffled moan. He slid out in a short while, but remained where he was- with Charles still trapped beneath him._

_Time stretched painfully slow and the silence had become thunderous._

_‘You think yourself so smart, Charles,’ the words were said so quietly, that Charles had to strain his ears to catch it, ‘Thinking I would not see through your plan?’_

_Charles’ eyes grew wide at that and Schmidt continued his monologue, ‘How noble of you, protecting her like that. And what a perfect act! But still,’ he traced the young man’s jaw line, brushed his thumb against the apple of his cheek and fixed his gaze upon Charles’ face, ‘I don’t buy it.’_

_Charles could feel his heart thumping away in a dreadful rhythm and he had gone ghostly pale when Schmidt looked him dead in the eye, his expression reading murderous intent._

 


	9. Transgression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 is up and it's all thanks to lovely Casey, who did a remarkable job in beta-ing and helping me <333

The coach’s sudden stop and horses’ startled neigh almost sent Charles falling face-first to the ground. Regardless of the rude awakening, he was glad to come to; the nightmarish dreams were finally over.

“Apologies, kind sir,” the elderly coachman said,  opening the door for Charles,  “But we cannot traverse  any further .  I’m afraid you’re on your own. ”

That was understandable. The road ahead was nothing but morass, fallen branches and trees. If the downpour did not cease, the road would be completely washed away.

 

“You sure you will be alright, sir? The weather is mighty dreadful today.” Charles just smiled in reply and grabbed his hat,  leaving  the concerned coachman and his steed behind.

 

\-------

 

Todbringend Grange stood before him, massive and threatening as ever. The gloomy atmosphere surrounding it was emphasized by lightning and heavy rain. Shadows danced on its old, cracked walls. The place had aged badly--the roof had numerous holes, most of the windows were broken and what remained of the front door could  no longer be called a ‘door’ in the meaning of the word.

A couple of steps in and the wooden floor gave in and crumbled underneath his booted foot, leaving a gap in its place. This  cursed  place was falling apart. ‘Good,’ Charles thought, while trying to navigate his way to the dining room.

 

He reached his destination without any further predicaments or life threatening perils and nothing but cold, ruthless wind greeted him there, howling into the night. Something was not right. This was not how they agreed to meet. The echoing footsteps were what made him turn around. Before he could blink, the door to the dining room slammed shut, leaving Charles in a distressful state, guessing in the dark. His telepathy failed to grasp who the person was, although it was strange, since the feeling was familiar. There was an obstacle, a wall between him and the target. He could feel mice in the walls at the basement floor, but he could not reach through the barrier to get to the intruder--just like that time at the Thornfield Hall.

 

After some rustling, the intruder lit the candle to reveal his identity. Charles, shocked, took a  couple of steps back, coming to a stop when he hit the table.  Schmidt.

“ Surprise.”  the man said quietly, taking a few steps forward and not waiting for Charles to get out of the stupor. “It’s a shame that your gift is of no use whilst I have this,” he gestured around his head, obviously proud of whatever he was wearing. It was a helmet of sorts, grey and seemingly heavy, but Schmidt showed no discomfort in having it on. “ You can stop trying, that’s the limit, Charles. You cannot tread beyond this point.”  

 

Leisurely, he made his way to the table and seated himself on one of the fancy chairs. It was a miracle that the chair did not fall to pieces, being remarkably old. Schmidt gestured Charles to take a sit next to him. Charles only glared.

 

“Is that a ‘no’, then?” H e shifted his position, so that he could see Charles more clearly. “Such a resentful look you’re giving me. Is that how you  gr eet an old friend?”

 

“A friend?” Charles spat out. “What a wicked sense of humour you have.”  

After a moment of silence, Charles  went on. “Seeing that  **you** are here, I take it that you know full well about whom I was supposed to meet here, so cut to the chase: where is she?”

 

“Impatient as ever, aren’t you? Regardless of your treason, you ought to know that I fancy you greatly, still.”

 

Charles ’ expression had significantly changed. His lips were now in a thin line, and with a hard, intense glare he hoped that he could convey his desire to obliterate Schmidt that very instant.  

 

“Where is Raven?” He couldn’t stress the words more; the next step would be shouting and Charles did not want to lose his face in front of this man. Deep down he was anxious and worried about her well-being. Surely Schmidt would not let such betrayal slide.

 

“One day I woke up ... ” Schmidt purposefully avoided answering the given questions. The man would have his own way, Charles knew,  whether people liked it or not.  “And it struck me--a realization clear as day--that you, the person that I’ve entrusted my plan with and the only being that I thought I could rely upon in this wretched world--had deceived me.”  He fixed his gaze on Charles now, emotions unreadable.

 

Charles’ heart was beating away in dreadful rhythm--events were turning for the worse, far worse and he didn’t need his power to feel it. He could hear it in Schmidt’s voice and sees it in his eyes. He places a hand behind his back, getting a hold of the knife  tucked in under his belt and is preparing for the worst.

 

“You deceived me after all I did for you…” He closed his eyes and Charles took this opportunity to make his way to the broken window behind him, slowly and carefully taking one step after another, not turning his back to Schmidt.

 

“ Another step and she’s dead .”

 

That statement was enough to make Charles stop, feet rooted to the ground. He could not let Raven get hurt.

 

“What did you do to her?” Charles asked, voice and stature composed, but inside everything was going haywire.

 

“Nothing, yet. Or at least, nothing lethal.”

 

“ How dare you !”

 

“I suggest,“ Schmidt growled out and almost jumped up from his seat, “that you show a little bit of respect for the man in charge here.”  With a swift motion he raised his hand and had Charles at the gun point, taking immense pleasure in the unfeigned shock written in the blue eyes.  “W ith that insolent attitude out of the way, I propose we get to the order of business.”

 

“Which is?” he could hear his voice faltering, curse it.

 

“Oh Charles,” he smiled the smile that made Charles cringe, “did I frighten you?”

 

He did. Charles would never admit it out loud to the satisfaction of this monster , but he was never afraid of someone more than he was of Schmidt in his entire life.  He was unstable, unpredictable, and thus, dangerous.

 

“There is no need to be afraid of me, you know that, right?” he smiled weakly, giving Charles a soft, almost tender look, trying his best to find a way to manipulate the man before him. He knew that threatening to kill off  his sister was an exceptionally effective way to yield Charles to his will and make him go forth with this plan, but threatening to kill the boy himself was a wrong move.  With Charles dead, all these years of his hard work, all his research- would turn into nothing. Besides, he needed Charles for… other reasons.

 

Charles did his best and swallowed the lump that stuck in his throat, took a couple of steps forward and joined Schmidt behind the table, one hand still behind his back. It surprised Schmidt enough to lower his gun and look at the young man in bewilderment.

 

“I knew you would come to your senses,” he said, sinking back to the chair, “It’s a very reasonable thing to do, Charles, I’m proud of you.”

 

Sorting out his words and ruling out the indecencies he would like to say to Schmidt in response , Charles looked up, attention focused on the pale face opposite of him,  and said:  “Would you mind putting the sickening sweet-talk aside and reveal your plan? I need to be assured that Raven is not and will not be harmed. In turn I’m willing to do anything you say to atone for this transgression myself. She is not to blame.”  

 

“Honorable as ever, you are!” Schmidt laughed and felt safe enough to place the gun back into its holster. “Now then, I don't have any solid proof of Raven’s well-being  currently  in my possession, so you'll have to go by my word.” Schmidt was probing, testing Charles on how desperate he was to keep her well and alive. If he agreed to such conditions, he didn't have to keep his word anymore- even if the girl ended up dead, the poor boy wouldn’t ever know the truth.

 

“Do you take me for some sort of fool?” Charles said coldly, eyes fixed on Schmidt, making him  reach out for the pistol again. Charles' gaze wandered from barrel to Schmidt and back. “Threaten me you might, but I do not agree to your terms. I want to see  her;  I want to know that she’s alive.”

 

“For someone who had betrayed  ** me ** , you act  beyond arrogant . What makes you think that I won’t pull the trigger?”

 

“Honestly? There is nothing. But correct me if I’m wrong: you need me. You need me to carry out this plan and you obviously need me alive.”  

 

Schmidt said nothing, but held the gun in position, regardless.

 

“Show me--prove to me that Raven is well and breathing and I will carry on with the assigned task, if not, then pull the trigger and end it here.”

 

“Your request is reasonable, but you do know that there is just about one option to achieve that, do you not?”

 

“I do and I accept it.” Charles said it with firm tone and stone resolve written all over his face.

 

He knew full well what it meant. It meant returning to that place again. It meant descending that dark corridor stained in blood and voices screaming in his head, although no normal person could hear them, but Charles can and would try his best to silence them, but to no avail-- there were too many. It all meant coming all the way down to Todbringend Grange’s darkest and sickest secret – Schmidt would call it ‘ Das  Forschungslabor ’, but the residents of the Grange had an entirely different name for it. Charles had spent countless hours at that place and to him it was nothing but a dreadful and morbid oubliette for tortured souls.


End file.
